


Some Kind of Stranger

by shadeofwrong



Category: The Cornetto Trilogy, The World's End (2013)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 06:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4468673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeofwrong/pseuds/shadeofwrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The start of the King's journey towards the Rising Sun. Vague references to a suicide attempt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Kind of Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I totally forgot I wrote this and am posting it two years after the movie came out. It's a good thing the Gary King feels train has no stops. Named after a song by the Sisters of Mercy BECAUSE OF COURSE.

Gary couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a mirror that wasn't cracked. How many years bad luck, then, had the whole world accumulated since the power went out that wild night in Newton Haven? A small, wry smile grew on his cracked lips-- figures it would be that way when he was finally able to look at himself in the eye again. Well, almost. Sure, he thought, his was a hard face to resist, but he had his reasons. Reasons that stretched back for twenty years and had been slowly working to kill him, long before he tried to do the job himself. 

His dirty hands rested on the sink below the cracked mirror, similarly damaged and stained with God knew what. The washroom was the best he could find in the latest abandoned estate he and several other drifters had taken refuge in for the time being. The only light was the milky rays of sun shining through a half shattered window behind him. A disposable razor that had seen far better days rested in the basin, and an occasional drip of cloudy water plopped onto its handle. Gary ran his fingers over his beard, and unsettled the dust that had collected in it out in the new elements of the fallen world. Though nature had started to take over the outside again, debris from civilization would doubtlessly be in the atmosphere long after humanity started to build itself back up again. It was all over him, from the leather hat he started to wear to protect himself from the sun, all the way down to his Doc Martens. Funny how some of his outdated fashion sense managed to be his best protective gear now. The beard, on the other hand, didn't seem to fit anymore. Even if the distortions in the mirror weren't there, he knew he'd look a mess; his hair had grown long past his ears and the beard had gotten scraggly and unkempt beneath the bandana he used to keep from breathing in dust. He almost looked withered by the world, but anyone who might say that had never seen his eyes. A year ago, they were bleary and buried in the wrinkles of a false smile and a lack of sleep. Whatever spark of life remained seemed on the verge of snuffing out, but now they were alert and on fire. He was ready, after months of withdrawal, of searching for a new purpose, to once more be the king. He splashed water on his face, the cool sensation relaxing his nerves; he still didn't like touching razors all that much. Even pink ones with flowers along the back.

Getting sober would be the opposite reaction most men would have to the technological apocalypse, but Gary had never been like most men. At least, he didn't like to think of himself as most men. Hell, he never used computers much anyway. This new world, harrowing as it was, finally gave him the freedom a bottle never could. The razor nicked across his skin as hair fell into the sink, but he accepted the burn with a few breathless curses and a self deprecating laugh. When he scraped the last of the hair away, he ran his hands along the smooth cheeks left behind. New beginning. New face. 

“Who the fuck is this handsome devil, eh?” he muttered to himself, grinning. Suddenly, a rough knock on the door caused him to jerk his head away from his reflection. 

“Oi--” The knock repeated, more violently. “Fuck off!” 

The door burst open, the lock splintering, revealing one very pissed off looking brute, armed with a crossbow. Gary lifted his hands cautiously, still holding the ladies' razor. 

“Gonna need anything on you worth selling, mate,” the brute growled, “Give me all the scrap you got and maybe I don't make you a pincushion.” Gary kept an affable expression, not looking any more than compliant. He looked down at the razor. 

“Okay.” 

The brute only half realized what Gary was about to do when the razor was already flying at him from Gary's hand. The loose blade that cut his chin while he shaved now buried itself in the man's eyebrow, making him bellow like a mule. His hand that held the crossbow slackened, and Gary grabbed the sword he left resting against a nearby rusted radiator. When the man reached out and tried to throttle him, he instinctively turned with an upward slash across the brute's chest. The man fell back onto the floor with a hard thud, groaning. Gary took a deep breath and wiped the blade of his sword clean on the nearby tattered curtains. He hadn't been sure how good of a weapon it'd be, since he'd looted it from a decidedly average antique dealer's, and he sure as hell didn't have much practice with it. Like the rest of his habits, that would change. He stepped over the man and headed for the door-- he needed to move on quickly.

“If they ask what happened to you, my friend?” Gary lifted his bandana over his face. “Tell 'em the King's left the building.”


End file.
